Honey
by kalabangsilver
Summary: Two lovers reunited. And a gentle rebuke for the doctor's week away.


_Honey_

One touch, to my cheek from your hand, is enough to break me and I fall.

Hard. To the floor, at your feet, at your mercy. Kneeling. I sit, I breathe. If I taste you - I try to remember, looking up - what you will taste like? Sit, breathe again. A beat passes. Do I remember? Yes, yes I think so. A breath, a beat. Is it the sweat that falls from your skin across your lip, creating that shine of light; do you taste of that? The shine catches my eyes. No. Not that, not that.

Do you taste like sugar? I cast my mind back, try to remember. I suppose I am biased. The sweet memory of your skin is deceptive; taste complicated by my natural human desire for you. When I taste you, of course you taste sweet, taste good to me. That is hormones releasing in my cerebral cortex. Endorphins and adrenaline; I'm bursting inside, crying out to taste you, eat you alive. No, no... stop and think. Think. What do you taste of? It's not sugar, no.

"You taste sweet." I voice it out loud, trying to remember.

You taste of, you taste of...

You reply with a smile;

"The honey in the lion." I cock my head. _I told you that._

It warms me deep in my abdomen to look into your eyes when they're deep and burning like they are now. An ache starts within me. I ache for you, I'm dying for you and you know it fine well. Your lips are smiling, your eyes are teasing, testing. You step closer, one hand around the side of my face, a finger curling around an ear lobe. Rubbing back, tracing down. The ache in me intensifies. In my heart, between my legs. You step closer still, right up to me. Your hips are level with my head. If I lean forwards... the things I could do for you.

You stoop, then sink to kneel across from me until we are almost equal in height.

Your lips. your eyes. All I can see is you.

"Honey," you breathe, blowing the words towards me like a benediction. Your words a prayer. Your body, the one holy place in my life. My santuary. My salvation. "It's honey." You lean close. The tip of your tongue slips out to touch the peak of my lip. "You whisper to me that I taste of honey."

Heat spikes in my flesh and skin. I'm burning. And you, your eyes hold no mercy for me. Neither they should. I made you wait. This is my punishment.

"Where did you go?" you whisper, rolling the words ever so slowly from your lips. There is still a southern twang to your voice, the trace of an accent you have tried to hide. My eyes dart over yours. You slide both hands to my shoulders and knead nimble fingers into my skin there. You frown slightly. "Where did you go for a week?"

Our eyes lock. You frown. I stare. This is mental sparring if ever there was. There is an air of challenge in your words, but it is not anger I see in your eyes. They remain playful. You are enjoying this as much as I. That pleases me, as does the touch of your belly against mine. You are beautiful, yet strong. Soft - then away. You are a dancer. Touching - then away. The aching is so intense now that it burns up to my throat and emerges as a soft groan. You laugh. Such a beautiful sound. My ears are still not accostomed to it, as my hands can still not believe the feel of your skin. I cannot help but stare a bit in wonder at you - at your strength and your beauty.

"Where did you go, huh?" You hum and the noise in your throat reverberates against my cheek.

"Dancing with young, beautiful women in Venice, under a lover's moon." My hands fall to stroking your sides, feeling them move as you hum again.

The left edge of your mouth rises slightly.

"...Liar."

We laugh a bit, together. You never really expected an answer, and know better than to ask the truth. It does not really matter, where I have been or what I have done. I am back. I am here now, hands searching your body as yours search mine. My fingers find your heartbeat in the shallow of your back, beneath your scapula. It is steady, but flutters a bit faster when I touch. Pleasure rolls through me. I made you do that, I can still make you do that.

"Dreaming of serenading a dancer..."

You lean back, belly still pressed against mine and a hand on either side of my neck.

At the look in your eyes, the ache that spread to my throat begins to spread to my heart. For so long I thought I would never feel that ache again.

"A dancer?" you whisper and swallow. The soft cream skin on the underside of your throat twitches. Beneath it, veins trace faint patterns on your skin.

Beautiful.

"Mmm."

Your burning eyes. My burning heart.

We kiss. Colliding is like combustion. Lips brush. You moan. I ache. Desire consumes us. I waited so long to touch you. I held back, all those years ago. I was good, so good. Now you are mine. Completely mine. What you did for me, beautiful Starling, what you sacrificed for me is almost as beautiful as you are. But not quite. We kiss again and again. You do taste like honey - no, sweeter than honey - as sweet as life itself.

The fireplace we kneel beside burns lower than we do. As we shift across the carpet, your toes collide with the table, your fine leg sending a tremor through the wooden table top. The teacup placed there earlier trembles and falls, splintering into a thousand shards against the stone hearth. It falls, breaks and does not come back together. It never will. You need not worry.

You whisper words across my skin. I kiss them from your lips and return them to your neck. We move together. Over and over. I move to the beat of your heart. You mould to my body, feeling the rhythm of mine. A breath. A beat. It passes. We move. You quiver before me. We burn together, ache together, climax together and tremble back to the floor together. We lie amidst our abandoned clothes, scattered like skins of the lives we have shed. Together.

Your breathing is ragged when you speak.

"I'm the dancer."

"Yesssss" I hiss against the soft skin below your ear. "Yes." I close my eyes and rest my head against you.

Your fingers seek what your eyes covet and you hang on. Its what you do, dancer. You are not scared now - to admit need, to reach out to me. I did not fix you, however. You were never broken. You were alone. And now you are not. First principles, Clarice, simplicity. Like Marcus Aurelius. Of each particular thing, what is it in itself? You were alone, and now you are not. Burning eyes. Burning hearts. Without our clothes and outer trappings, we are just lovers. We find that quantifies us quite enough, for now.

One touch, to my cheek from your hand, is enough to break me and I fall.

All over again.


End file.
